Arguments
by Mickey Sixx
Summary: [MacDanny Slash] Danny reflects on the past...


**Title:** Arguments  
**Author:** Kaz  
**Pairing:** Mac/Danny  
**Word Count:** 1,081  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Spoilers (Kind of) for 'The Closer'. Slash.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters used in this fic.  
**  
Authors Note:** I took up a 100 fic Challenge on Livejournal for 100songs. This one for based on Family Portriat by Pink, but I have removed the lyrics from this version as wont allow song lyrics in fics anymore. If you want the version iwth the lyrics, please go to my Livejournal. The link if onb my profile.

**Summary:** Danny remembers the bad times...

* * *

I sit on the bed with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I hate arguing with him. I hate it so much. It's times like these when I just want to scream and cry and smash things up because the silence and the thick tension in the apartment almost rips me apart. It wasn't even a valid argument; it was just some stupid thing that we disagreed on and we're too stubborn to back down.

I sigh and lift my head, running my hands through my hair to the back of my neck. My eyes land on the closet, the doors open slightly because I can never be bothered to close them properly. I see our clothes, all jumbled up together in no particular order, and I smile slightly. Then the smile slips as I see the while shoebox on the very top shelf of the closet. I stare at it for a long time, and before I even notice, I'm up and walking over to it. I stop and open the doors wider, staring at the box on the shelf. I reach up, and it's almost as if I'm detached from myself as my fingers grab the sides and slide it carefully from the ledge. My eyes never leave the box as I turn and make my way back to the bed, and I sit and place the box beside me.

I continue to stare at the object, unsure whether I should open it or put it back. My heart screams at me to put it back to protect myself from the pain that I locked inside of it all those years ago. It hasn't been opened since that day, and I realise that it's been over 10 years already. My head, the scientist side of me, told me to open it and dissect all the emotions; figure them out and then put them all back together again. My head won out, and I lift the lid from the white box, distantly realising that my hands were shaking as I did so.

I gaze into the box, my eyes sweeping over its contents. Photographs, letters, drawings, pictures, notebooks, diaries; my whole life crammed into one box. My fingers softly run over the photographs on the top of the pile as if they would disintegrate if I held them properly. I pick them up and look at each one with critical eyes, and I remember every moment in which they were taken. The first one is of me and my sister, curled up on the couch asleep. We weren't very old; I think I was two and she was four. We were always really close, played together all the time. I followed her around like a lost puppy when we were young. I think Mom took this picture, so it must have been when I was young.

I go to the next picture, but one from the back of the pile I have in my hand falls on to the bed. I look to it and pick it up, and when I actually look at the picture I wish I hadn't have seen in. So many emotions crash over me that I don't know what to feel, and this was one of the reasons why my heart was warning me away from the box. This photo is of the whole family, Mom, Dad, and all six of my brothers and sisters. I'm stood by Mom, her arm slung around my shoulder, and Dad's arm around hers and everyone else is in front of us. I think we were in Central Park for a Family get together that summer. I was nine, and I remember that clearly. I look at the photograph, and all I see are eight happy faces smiling back at me. It was the last time we were all together and content.

The arguments started around my tenth birthday. Mom and Dad would stop speaking to each other for so many days and that was all we knew about the upsets. They would always make up after, and everything would go back to normal again. But it only lasted so long. The arguments became more frequent and more violent. I would hear them from my bed at night, screaming at each other about money and us kids. I winced every time I heard a plate or a glass smash against a wall. I heard mom screaming at my dad, telling him that he never did a damn thing for the family, and that getting involved with that stupid gang was the worst thing he could have done.

Tanglewood tore my family apart. Mom hated the fact that we were involved with them and she couldn't do anything to break the ties. For all his faults and all the screaming matches, she loved Dad dearly, and she couldn't bring herself to leave him. My brothers all jumped at the chance to follow my Dad into Tanglewood, my sister and I didn't. We were the only ones in the family, apart from mom, who thought Tanglewood was a bad idea. Marie left home as soon as she could, and I was left to defend myself against my family. Mom had died when I was 14, and I had no-one to stick up for me when I needed them. Dad bullied me, so did my brothers, and I hated every second I had to spend at home.

The photograph in my hand moved and the movement pulled me out of the memories. I see a drop of water on the picture and I realise that it's a teardrop. I frown and bring my hand up to my cheek. I'm crying.

Tanglewood tore my family apart, but I'm not going to let come between me and Mac anymore. I'm going to fight to make my life better than it was before and I'm not going to let stupid things like this silly argument split us up. I have worked too hard to get where I am, and I'm not going to let it go that easily.

I put the pictures back in the box with a small smile and put the lid back on. I pick it up and return it to its place on the shelf. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and head towards the bedroom door, opening it and stepping into the hall way, looking for Mac. I find him sat on the window sill, staring out onto the New York skyline. I walk towards him, and he hears me even though I'm not making a sound. I'm about a meter away from him and we stare at each other for a long time, our eyes connecting and conveying our feelings to each other without words.

"I'm sorry." We say at the same time. I smile at him and I see the answering smile on his lips.

Everything will be ok. I promise.


End file.
